Page 93 of Guiding Desire
Senlas shrugged, then pulled Orrey close, hugging him so tight he could barely move. “I’m not sure. But I can see where that fierce streak in you comes from.” He ran his chin over Orrey’s head, which was mildly itchy, but also sort of comforting. “I have to tell Col.”
“Please don’t. I swear, I’ll get Dad to apologize if he said that. You don’t need to get Col involved.”
“Oh, not involved like you think. He’ll just get a kick out of hearing that, and he’ll probably want to give your father a prize for prioritizing a Conduit and being willing to go against a Guardian to protect him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Col has priorities like that. He’s also good at self-preservation. If—hmm. You follow his words, hear? If he tells you to do something, ever, I want you to do it, even if it doesn’t make sense to you in the moment.”
“He outranks me. You don’t need to tell me that.”
Senlas’s diaphragm moved with laughter, and Orrey could feel it. “Right. I forgot you know the rules better than I.” He lifted his chin and kissed the top of Orrey’s head, which had to feel stubbly. Orrey wondered whether he should maybe let his hair grow out a little. “Drive’s about a half hour. You can nap. I’ll wake you when we get close.”
Orrey wanted to protest, but the mere mention of closing his eyes, even for just ten minutes, was too much to resist.
“I won’t fall asleep. Just closing my eyes for a moment,” he said.
“Mm-hmm.”
Another kiss to the top of his head. And after that, the warmth of Senlas’s embrace as Orrey quickly drifted off into a light sleep.
HisdreamtookOrreyto the Argentean Municipal Gallery. He knew the echoey rooms, the colorful walls, and the paintings on them well. His mom had taken him here so many times, had shown him the various panting techniques and how color and compositions created something beautiful if used correctly.
He was in the landscape room, and in front of him, on his left, Senlas stood; on his right, his parents.
“Give us our son back,” his dad demanded.
Senlas said nothing, just stood there, stoic-looking and silent.
“I want my son,” his mom said.
“Orrey!” His second mother’s voice sounded near tears.
Orrey opened his mouth to say that he was right there, right here, but he couldn’t move his lips. He tried to raise his hand to see what was wrong with his mouth but found his arm wouldn’t obey him either.
His parents cried and cried. Senlas stood there, looking dark and brooding, like a house with all the lights turned off.
The strange logic of dreams let Orrey look down at himself, and he saw his feet and legs, his arms, had turned to stone. He had become a statue on a pedestal, a hero’s statue, there but not, present but not part of life.
It was his parents there, the pain in their voices, that made it difficult for Orrey to do what he normally did, to make himself stop dreaming and wake up instead. A rattlingclick click clicking noise overpowered his auditory senses as he pushed against his mothers’ wailing.
He came to rapidly, realizing the sound wasn’t all that loud, stairs under steady feet.
“Huh?” He looked around, jerked. Senlas was carrying Orrey in his arms.
“Shh. It’s okay. Remember, I’d never drop you.”
“Huh!?”
They were in a stairwell, dark and echoey, and there seemed to be so much wood here. The railing was made from it, and apparently the stairs too, hence that odd sound of them protesting under Senlas’s weight. Orrey looked over Senlas’s shoulder, and behind them, the food containers floated in the air, suspended by Senlas’s power.
“This is Vin’s place. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“But you said you’d wake me,” Orrey said.
Senlas shot him a grin. “Didn’t have that in me. You looked too peaceful.”
Peaceful. Not in my dreams.“Still. When you say you’ll wake someone up, you should do it.”
